That’s the thing I hold onto. It doesn’t matter at this point that all my shirts have stains on the belly from dropping food and drink onto them.
(note to self: research how to remove oil-based stains from cotton clothing today)
It doesn’t matter that my heels badly need a manicure to be presentable in sandals. Or that my face is getting fat, my hair won’t quite behave as I’d like it to (or maybe it just looks odd due to the new proportions of my face). It doesn’t matter that there is actually something on my body (my growing belly) that is finally bigger in circumference than my boobs.
I don’t look pregnant from the back.
Photos (you can tell which is which) at 34 weeks, 2 days: